


A Certain Measure of Tolerance

by stateofintegrity



Category: Rush (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 15:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6759151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neil auditions for Rush and learns about the relationship between his new bandmates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Certain Measure of Tolerance

America had called; the fledgling band Rush was going to conquer not their native land – but the United States. But before they could start, they needed a new drummer, and until they found him, the two boys of Rush had repaired to a dilapidated former factory – making it home and studio space. It was also the first place that Alex Lifeson and Geddy Lee had ever shared a bed. As they walked across the bridge that led away from town, Alex looked over the side. Far below, the creek was rising swiftly, glassy green and fast running. The lash of the rain against wet, perishable leaves was in his ears and his eyes shifted to follow Geddy’s shadow. It danced far below them despite the cloudy sky, fine and frail, and Alex wanted to dive off of the bridge to protect it.  It had been a hard week for both of them. Their contract with Mercury prevented them from gigging until the tour began, but their advance money afforded them only a meager living. To keep themselves afloat, they worked odd jobs when and where they could, often under suspicion because of their flared jeans and long hair.

          “So, drummers this weekend?” Alex asked.

          “Three. Maybe we’ll finally get lucky,” He reached over and squeezed his best friend’s hand. “Funny, I never thought I’d be looking for Mr. Right ever again after finding you.”

          Alex gave his signature sun-shower laugh. “Hey, hey! We’re only hiring the guy to _drum_. Unless I’m not quite enough for you anymore?” His quirked eyebrow was questioning, but the glint in his eye said that he knew better. Their shared romantic history did not yet include a week that he hadn’t made Geddy cry out for him.

          “More than enough,” the singer assured him.  _Sometimes, more than I can handle!_  “Which is actually kind of relevant to this whole drummer thing.”

          Alex nodded. He knew where this was going. “You’re worried about how someone will take it?”

          “Yeah. I mean… do we have to come out and announce it? Or do we sneak around for the rest of… however long we’re performing?”

          “Most bands don’t have that long of a run,” Alex pointed out, not sure whether he was being optimistic or not. “I doubt we’re still out on the road when we’re forty.”  

They’d reached the creek path that led to the abandoned factory that they’d made into a home. Left unoccupied for years, the land was now mostly overgrown as the woods did its best to swallow the place back up. In the summertime, they could reach outside of their living room window and pick blackberries and sometimes animals made their way right up to their door. Once they’d even seen lynx tracks in the snow. As they dried off inside, Alex could tell that his answer hadn’t comforted the love of his life.

“Look – how about we just meet these guys first, huh? We’ve been able to keep our secret when we wanted to before.” He held up one hand as if taking an oath. “I won’t even grope you during the interviews or anything – Scout’s Honor.”

Geddy laughed as he’d hoped he would. “Okay. And if we find someone we want to work with?”

“I’ll go talk to him. Surely we can find a modern, liberal drummer, right? This _is_ rock and roll.”

Geddy raised himself up to rest his head on his shoulder. “I just don’t want to cost you anything, Ali.”

“You’d be worth it even if you did. And we’re in this together, huh? Don’t worry.”

Won over by his sunshiny demeanor and his beauty, Geddy did his best not to… for now.

 

****

 

          Neil Peart, world-traveled and, now, world-wearied, was not often made nervous. He told himself that he should not be nervous now. He didn’t even _want_ this job. And from the way he was eyed as he exited his father’s car (he’d sold his own for passage to London) it didn’t seem that he would get it anyway. The set of his would-be-bandmates’ eyes showed that they weren’t impressed by him and he felt disappointed – mostly in himself. _Why should these two be any different? They just see drums in burn barrels, a musician too poor even to care for his equipment._

Muttering a gruff greeting, he followed the two young rockers (all bell bottoms and glittering tops that made him groan internally) into a tiny kitchen that was little more than a high counter, a few cupboards, the range, the fridge, and a bar table. Neil couldn’t know it, but Geddy had sworn he’d never let Alex make love to him on that table, but after Alex made smiley-faced grilled cheese and French fries and picked a vase full of wildflowers, he’d let it happen. After all of his shuddering and moaning, Alex had even done the dishes without complaint – naked.

          Brandywine eyes flicking around the room, Neil took in the winter coats and shoes lined up side by side by the door. The shoes seemed to lean into each other like old friends. On the other side of the range was a tiny laundry room/ bathroom – but it rarely worked. Alex never let Geddy go to the laundry mat either; he was too jealous to leave him under other eyes – and he really liked him without clothes. Above, the loft held their shared bed, but they made the couch messy if someone was coming over. It was messy now, but Neil smiled behind his mustache.

          The living room had a radio in it instead of a television, as if they were a married couple from the 1950s, and a braided rug in blue and yellow and green. The rest of the space was a studio of sorts, a row of frosted glass windows where the garage doors had been. Amplifiers were covered with ashtrays and toys and instrument stands held basses and guitars. Neil expected to enter that space immediately. It was his drumming they would evaluate, his skill with his hands and feet that would cause him to be chosen or discarded out of hand.

          He was surprised when the remaining pieces of Rush lounged easily on the couch, offering him a battered, daisy-yellow armchair, and started to learn who he was. Geddy (a soft and fitting name that he’d never, ever heard before) was clearly the leader in this. He

asked what the young drummer liked to read, what he did for fun. Watching his green eyes come alight with recognition or agreement, Neil thought of his favorite book character, Howard Roark, and Roark’s concept of the personal answer. Geddy was saying “yes” to Tolkien and to old movies, to The Twilight Zone and the connections between drums and bass. In doing so, he was also saying yes to Neil – affirming him.

          Alex, Neil could see, would be harder to win over. He watched Geddy, followed his lead, nodding along sometimes, but he wasn’t happy about the instant friendship that he and Neil seemed to have. He was quiet – almost sullen – and he never missed an opportunity to mention the fact that there were other drummers in the running. The drummer marked him as a protector and knew that hurting Geddy in any way would bring repercussions not from the gentle creature bird-perched on the edge of the couch cushion, but from Alex. There was a fit to it that the drummer enjoyed – though he wondered how he might fit into such a tight-knit little club. Rush wasn’t just a band for these two – it was its own universe. He was on the verge of turning it all down (it would be so much work to make a niche for himself here!) but two things changed his mind. When he talked about his writings, both Alex and Geddy brightened and shared a look. Geddy was the one to venture, almost timidly, “Ever thought of lyrics?”

          He hadn’t. “Not really. Why?”

          “Well _I’m_ not good at them.” He pushed back against Alex with his whole body, a gentle shove that spoke of years of close contact. “And he wouldn’t write them even if he could. No patience. It would be really, really nice to sing something with a little depth to it. A little meaning.”

          _I guess he can be a frontman – he’s damn persuasive._ And just like that, he was offering to give it a shot and they were shaking hands on it, with Alex trying to catch Geddy’s eye in the background. Seeing him notice, Geddy offered the drummer a wink that said that he could easily manage any objections the guitarist might raise. _Welcome to Rush,_ that wink said. _It’s crazy here – but kinda nice!_

After they played together he walked back to his car, shaking his head. Needing to shut up the naysaying voices in his head he asked them a question he knew they wouldn’t have an answer for. _Well, do you really think they’ll find anyone else who will be as accepting to them as me? Who’ll look after them half as well? These are suburban kids – they’ll need all the bloody help they can get!_

***

 

          A few days passed and then Alex Lifeson appeared on his doorstep, sheepish smile rising to his lips. “So, you’re in. Wanna go get something to eat?”

          It was an olive branch, something to say that his odd and unwelcoming behavior hadn’t been meant. Neil grabbed his coat. “Sure. Where’s your sidekick?”

          Alex’s smile widened at that. “Fretting. He can’t do this kind of thing.”

          “Go to lunch?” Neil teased.

The set of his smile made Alex warm. Geddy had been right. They’d found their drummer.

 

 

          They were seated at a local deli that couldn’t help but remind Alex of Pancer’s with its gleaming glass tabletops reflecting the jaunty red of the ketchup bottle, the contrast of the salt and pepper shakers, their glasses filled with cola and dewed with condensation. Though Neil’s grin had reassured him, Alex now found that he held himself stiffly. He was, after all, about to hand the power to destroy his world over to a near-stranger. But he had to know. For Geddy’s sake he had to know.

          “I _did_ want to welcome you to the band,” he began, only barely avoiding chewing at his straw in nervousness.

          “But there’s something else.” It was not a question.

          “Yeah.”

          “A blood oath, perhaps? Some Bacchanean ritual?”

          “You’re fucking with me, huh?”

          “A little.”

          The angel-faced guitarist braced himself against the table. “Alright, well…” How did he say it? _I’m not the thing you’ll think when I tell you that I’m in love with him, but I **am**_ _in love with him and I need to know that you’re cool with it?_  

          He emerged from the surge and swell of his thoughts when he felt warm fingers close on his wrists in a quick gesture that was all kindness – all acceptance. “You can say it.”

          Alex felt as though this young musician was holding open a door for him, welcoming him through. “Ged’s not just my best friend. He’s mine.” _My soul_. “Understand?”

           It may have been years. It may have been forever. But when Alex looked up, Neil’s eyes were the eyes of a friend – a bandmate. They were not of the same temper of Geddy’s eyes – those green glass windows to a soul so clear and pure that it might never have known sorrow or pain – but they comforted him. “I understand,” those eyes said. “I understand and I will stand by you.” He could not know it (yet) but by looking like that at that moment, Neil Peart had just won a true friend for life.

 

***

 

          When Alex walked home along the briar and bramble paths, the stars were as soft as tissue paper, their radiance being drawn back inside as if to the heart of a thousand night-blooming flowers. Cool grass pressed kisses to his ankles and he wore a soft, stunned smile. He’d stayed, talking with Neil, for hours. In the back of his mind he’d known that he should excuse himself; Geddy would be worried sick. But he’d never sat in the presence of someone who accepted this part of him before. He’d suspected that people had known, of course – John, his little sister, Geddy’s mom – but there had never been a voice to sanction what he felt. The world refused to sanction them, that much was clear. They couldn’t marry

– or even be seen to date. Any public inkling of their feelings could be met with jeers (at best) or violence. Alex Lifeson had never been a man to need sanctions or permission. He followed his heart and knew that nothing on Earth or in Heaven could convince him that loving Geddy was wrong. But it saddened him sometimes anyway, knowing that the best part of himself always had to be kept out of the limelight, away in the wings of the stage.

          The kitchen was dark when he walked in and he blinked at the single bulb left burning over the sink. The love of his life was not sleeping. He could feel that much. Snagging a pair of cold beers from the fridge, he went in search of his dear worrier. When he found Geddy balled up in a corner of their bed (body as tightly curled as that of a kitten) he ruffled his hair. “Cheer up, sad pup,” he teased, knowing such childish names always made Dirk bristle. “All isn’t lost.”

          Geddy frowned at him. Alex had been gone too long, which meant Neil had not signed on. The guitarist might have eventually charmed him into agreeing – but it hadn’t been the easy acceptance Geddy had hoped for. Then, maybe he’d had his hopes up too high. It was a lot to ask, after all. _It will be awkward then. Glances. Him always disapproving._ “Hmmph.”

          Alex knew that his lover’s mind was rat-running down increasingly dark tunnels. The only way to dissolve such labyrinths was to startle Dirk. When he came up for air from a kiss that imprinted the back of his head into the mattress, his eyes were dazzled – but Alex had his attention.

          “He knew, Before I told him, he knew. Ged. He said he knew the minute we played together. We’ve got a _band_ , beautiful. We’re safe.” He reached for his left hand and outlined a copper band there; the softly-shining metal was set with blue and green stones. “Didn’t I promise you that we’d take over the world together?”

          “I always believed you. Even when I should have known better.” He laid his hand to the curve of his face and shivered to feel warm skin pressed into his touch. “ _America_.” He said the word as if it were fragile, like an incantation.

          “And this is just the first time,” Alex promised. “Just wait. Someday we’ll be so popular that you’ll have to persuade me to book fewer shows.”

          “That’s a change, Mr. I-doubt-we’re-even-still-playing-in-a-couple-of-years! This new drummer have you optimistic?”

          “Yeah, actually. I think we can talk him into writing lyrics. Did you hear how he talked??”

          Geddy let a wild flight of laughter take him. “First you’re going to subject him to _us_ – then you’re going to ask him to write _lyrics_? You’re cruel, Aleksandar!”

          “Harsh words for a man who managed to scrounge up enough advance money to take you to breakfast tomorrow.”

          Geddy shook his pretty head at him. “Ali… you’re going to drive those poor record people to distraction!” Then, to soften the blow, he pressed a kiss to his forehead, “But I love you for it.”

          “Pratt will be there. I thought we could start talking about the second album.”

The words should have triggered some panic in him. They hadn’t even left to tour for the _first_ album yet. Instead, he wondered at the nickname. “Pratt?”

          “For ‘prattle,’” Alex explained. “The man never shuts up. So, second album?”

           Alex’s confidence was infectious and Geddy found himself agreeing to that – and a whole lot else! – as the moon faded away.

 

***

 

          The next morning they met Pratt at a chain diner. Their waitress and the other patrons couldn’t know it, but they were witnessing the world takeover that Alex had spoken of: Rush had begun. And Geddy, for all of his reservations, found real comfort in a vanilla milkshake – and in Neil’s toast, given with eyes that smiled. “To all the things that make music - those forces of light and love.” Their glasses clinked too loudly, the glassy sound promising a not-too-distant racket of guitar chords and pounding drums and caravan wheels carrying them toward their rock and roll destiny.

 

End!


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